


"Please God, let him live."

by cynosure_phrases



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coma, Emotional, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, POV John Watson, Pain, Past Character Death, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:24:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynosure_phrases/pseuds/cynosure_phrases
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock was majorly injured in a case and might not return home, and John is not taking this very well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Please God, let him live."

_Crack. Boom._

And then all of a sudden, Sherlock Holmes fell.

* * *

The slow beep of the electrocardiographic heart monitor was driving John insane. There was no change in the mocking beat. 

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

There was no death, nor was there a boost in life. 

John already knew that Sherlock was going into a deadly coma the second he dropped, and he had nothing he could do. 

They were on a case that the dangers of it were known to them. They knew their fate could be changed at any minute, and Sherlock had just turned to John and said "What's the fun without the thrill of the chase?" Even though Sherlock had already known what John had gone through. 4 years before that day, Sherlock had faked his suicide to save John, and in the 2 years before he turned up expecting to just fit back into his life, John had already met a new companion. This time, it was different. Before Sherlock fell, there had been no relationship between them. There had been moments in which people could easily mistake them as a couple, but there had been no romance between them. John wished there had been, but it didn't exist. He hadn't known that Sherlock wanted one too, not until he had come back asking for him to join him in reckless case solving, after coming back to 221b of course. Sherlock had failed to notice that John was engaged to Mary, and was to be married soon. Sherlock seemed to brush it off and ask for John back anyway. They agreed on cases, but that was until Mary's unfortunate loss to cancer. Sherlock comforted John, and their relationship had started about a year after, leading them to this day, nearly 1 and 1/2 years later and now Sherlock could be gone too, and this time he wouldn't be coming back.

"Mr. Watson?" A nurse called in. John didn't even move his eyes from Sherlock. He simply stayed in his chair that rest next to Sherlock's bed, and noded.

"Sir, visiting hours are going to end soon." After a moment of silence, the nurse sighed and left the room.

John sat and watched Sherlock for what seemed like forever. A small tear leaked down his face as he clutched his boyfriend's hand.

"Please..." John whispered. "Not you too..."

He was startled by a sudden knock at the door, followed by footsteps.

"John."

"What the hell do you want?" John turned to face Mycroft, but was taken back by the appearance of his boyfriend's brother. Mycroft seemed restless and worried.

"I don't think I quite know how to explain this."

"I'm a bloody doctor, I think I know what's going on."  John stood up with swollen eyes. "I know what could happen, but I want to ignore that possibility."

As Mycroft stepped closer, John could see the sadness in his eyes as well. "We lost him once," John's voice cracked, "we can't loose him again."

"John, we have no control-"

" _I bleedin' know that already!_ " John snapped, and fell back into his seat. Tears welled his eyes, and he covered them with his palms. "You don't think that I've known that for god knows how long?"

Mycroft nodded, and calmly walked out of the door. 

John ran his hands down his face, and leaned his elbows on Sherlock's bed. The cold look of the small hospital room made John want to shrink up and leave, but he couldn't. He didn't want to leave Sherlock. He just couldn't. If he left, he could be leaving Sherlock forever. 

John grabbed Sherlock's hand once again, and watched his face. He knew that it'd do nothing, but watching it filled him with two emotions- hope and sorrow. Sherlock's face seemed to blend with the room- cold and lifeless. He looked like the missing piece of puzzle of the room, like he was the finishing touch of the masterpiece. John couldn't take it. He couldn't take looking at Sherlock. He'd never seen him so still, even in his sleep Sherlock was restless.

Gasping for air, John started to sob into Sherlock's side. "Sherlock." He peeped. "You can't do this. It's not fair. Just, preform a magic trick and make everything better." Shuttering, John gripped tighter onto the bed sheet. "Please."

* * *

Mrs. Hudson grew worried for John and called him back to 221b. It's been 3 days since John had been back to the flat, so John agreed that he's come back for that night.

Back up in the flat, John tried everything to forget what was going on only a few miles away. He made himself tea, but then he accidentally made Sherlock a cup. He turned on the telly, but put on the show that irritated Sherlock the least. He went to change into cloths to sleep in, but he put on Sherlock's favorite pants- the red ones.

Starting to sob again, John leaned against the wall. He glanced at the small box on their bedside table. Inside contained a ring- a special ring that was going to change their lives forever. Apparently not only a ring can change their lives, but guns can too. So can comas and cold hospital rooms.

Heavily breathing and wobbly kneed, John made his way back to the bed.  _Maybe a good night's sleep will change it._ John hoped.  _I can wake up tomorrow, and Sherlock will be in the kitchen doing some idiotic experiment that'll lead to melting half of our silverware._ He smiled and moved closer to Sherlock's side of the bed, but catching his breath when he remembered it's emptiness.

* * *

Hours had past, and John still couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned and tossed and turned and kept tossing and turning for what felt like forever.

He was missing something, something very important. 

With a spark of idea, he stood from the bed and blindly made his way to a pile of Sherlock's cloths and found his favorite scarf. He shuffled back to the bed and lay there with the scarf draped beside him. The scent that John categorized as  _Sherlock_ wafted around the room and lulled John into a deep sleep. 

* * *

John woke at about 11:30 AM. He carried himself to change into decent cloths. He mindlessly pulled Sherlock's favorite jumper over his head and went to make morning cuppas. 

He set up two cups, one for him and one for Sherlock, and brought them over to the couch. Setting both down on the table in front of it, he went to fetch the paper, and arrived back to take his cup, and look through he paper. It still hadn't dawned on him that Sherlock wasn't there. Sherlock was still laying in the cold-feeling room in the cold-feeling hospital where cold-looking people went about their day blind to what John was feeling. 

After finishing his cup, he brought both mugs back into the kitchen and laid them in the sink, surprised that Sherlock hadn't been up. Then, it hit him. 

Sherlock wasn't there. Sherlock was in the bloody hospital, and not in 221b.

In a dash to put on shoes and a warm coat, John scrambled out of the flat and out the door to hail a taxi. He twiddled his thumbs in the back of the cold taxi. Everything became cold to John. A numbed cold took over everything and left John feeling numbed and cold. He wanted to numb his heart the most, but that was the only thing still aching.

* * *

The hospital was just the way John left it. Cold and unwelcoming. He made his way up to Sherlock's room, and that was the way he left it too. Cold and unwelcoming, just with Sherlock still laying there. Not dying, but not fully to life either.

John took a deep breath, and sat by his partner once again, gripping his hand and silently praying for his awakening. Just this time, he left a small box next to his bedside. In the back of his head, he has his whisper that said "He's not going to wake up." John shook it off as something to avoid, something to forget that existed. That little voice was just trying to make up lies.

* * *

After a day, John brought a few extra outfits to the Hospital, deciding that he shouldn't leave again anytime soon. 

* * *

After his 3rd day there, he noticed the little voice getting louder.

After a week, it was screaming.

* * *

"Your not going to wake up, are you?" John whispered to Sherlock, hoping saying it out loud would kill the voice. The voice still chanted away, and John started sobbing onto his partner. 

"Please, oh, please wake up." John didn't like to beg, as he never did, but this was different. His heart was begging. His mind was begging. His well being was begging.

He sobbed onto Sherlock for quite some time, until he heard a deep raspy voice croak above him. "J-John?"


End file.
